Nowadays their round faces Strew the streets like copper suns In a galaxy of torn paper shreds, Fragments of things broken and anonymous, Not worth the stoop for a retrieval. Some time ago the penny had its day. It commanded a long paper strip Across which marshalled Studs of varicolored candy dots, Or a dozen tiny chocolate babies, Or a handful of yellow- orange kernels of candy corn Or a minor lollipop. A community of five coppers Could produce a cup of coffee Or fuel a ferry ride Across New York Bay Or send one subterranean On the subway from the Bronx Zoo Past the concrete crystals of Manhattan To the raucous carnival of the Coney Island Boardwalk. I still keep two To be laid against my eyes As carfare across the Styx.